


Calm Before The Storm

by Tarlan



Category: Primeval
Genre: Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Other, Post Season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lester goes home alone but needs some way to ease the tension of the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calm Before The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **MMoM** 2012 - Day 6

Lester sighed as he examined the tear in his second favorite suit jacket. Once more he'd been forced to flee from some creature incursion though, thankfully, it hadn't been future predators this time. Actually, he wasn't sure why he should feel thankful as this creature was just as capable of tearing him limb from limb and eating him, using its giant mandibles.

"Why is it never an incursion of fluffy kittens?" he murmured under his breath.

Lucky for him, he hadn't been alone in the ARC when the creature came through with several of its fellow giant ant-like creatures. Becker and his men had taken down the creature attacking him, and Abby had helped send the rest back through the anomaly to whatever time period they had come from. By now the dead creature was likely pinned down in Abby's laboratory being dissected, and good riddance to it.

He sank to the edge of his bed and grimaced as an attempt to stretch--to ease the tension in his back, neck and shoulders--aggravated the still healing wound in his side from the future predator attack a week earlier. Apart from the King's Cross train incident that was quickly resolved, everything had remained quiet.

Perhaps a little too quiet for his liking, he thought, as he recalled one of his father's favorite sayings--the calm before the storm.

The years working as head of the ARC and this project had taken their toll on him, and on his marriage. Not that his marriage had ever been more than a political move anyway but she had found someone who rarely had a pressing need to stay late at the office--sometimes for days on end--and who never came home with fresh scars from _animal_ attacks.

Strangely, it was a relief to move out of the _family_ home permanently and take up full residence at his London flat, close to the ARC. Part of that relief was not having to entertain anyone with half-truths any longer--especially now the whole world knew about the anomalies.

That had been the final straw for his marriage. Instead of being impressed by his work of the last five years, she had been upset at learning he had kept all of this not just from the general public but also from her. His wife. Perhaps he could have been a little less sarcastic in his response but TOP SECRET had never had a let-out clause of ' _except for your spouse and other loved ones_ '.

Still, it was a relief to no longer have to dismiss or lie about his work. Instead, he came home to a peaceful flat, a good whiskey and the low strains of classic opera floating through the rooms. Quiet and civilized.

Carefully, he removed his shoes and placed them tidily by the door. He pulled off his jacket and stripped out of his suit trousers, folding them up neatly so he could have them sent off tomorrow to the dry cleaners for repair. At least his third best shirt had remained unscathed this time, and he placed it into the laundry basket in the bathroom along with the rest of his clothing. The shower looked inviting and he grimaced, knowing he had to forego that obvious pleasure until the stitches came out.

In the full length mirror, he gently pulled away the bandage and glanced at the two lines of stitches, aware that even with the best surgeons available, he would still end up with scars. Resisting the temptation to poke at the injury, he sat down on the closed toilet seat and drew the necessary medical items from the drawer beside the sink. After several days of practice, it took him only a moment to follow the instructions he'd been given and re-dress the wound to protect the stitches. He finished his nightly ablutions--pulling on his pajamas, washing his hands and face, cleaning his teeth and flossing--before heading back into the bedroom and the comfortable bed that he no longer had to share.

He drew back the covers and lay down on the bed gingerly, staring up at the ceiling for several long minutes before sighing impatiently. His body was tired, craving sleep, but his mind was too active, caught in the verbal parries of his daily life. He needed to switch off but the thought of crawling back out of the bed to watch an hour or two of dull television held no appeal.

It occurred to him that he had one other option now he was alone, and he slipped his hand beneath the loosened waistband of his pajama bottoms, wrapping his fingers around his soft cock. He felt it twitch and lengthen with each stroke, and he closed his eyes, letting his mind divert from ARC affairs to the merits of certain fantasy figures, his mind quieting as his body began to thrum with need and desire. When he knew he was close, he paused, teasing himself a little as he pushed back the bed covers and his clothing before picking up the stroke again. This time he let the sensations build, let them flow over him as he found release.

Finally, he felt the pull of sleep and wiped himself clean with a tissue before readjusting his clothing and bedding.

He smiled as he closed his eyes. If this was the calm before the storm then he was damn well going to enjoy every moment of it while he could.

END


End file.
